


Not Him

by fandomshere_fandomsthere



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Blood, I cried while writing this, M/M, a n g s t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:17:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomshere_fandomsthere/pseuds/fandomshere_fandomsthere
Summary: All his life, Ross has been able to see the future. But when you can only see the deaths of the people you care about, is it a blessing or a curse?





	

**Author's Note:**

> During an episode of Pokemon Art Academy, Ross and Barry discussed what it would be like if you could see the future, but only the deaths of your close friends. That got me thinking.  
> I cried while writing this. I apologize if it seems too melodramatic, but I'm still fairly new at writing angst :)

            Blinding red and blue lights cut through the night air, blinking in quick succession as sires blared. An ambulance had arrived but it was far too late. A sobbing middle-aged woman was being held by a man about the same age who also had tears in his eyes while a police officer spoke to them in hushed voices. Yellow tape encircled the scene and a white sheet was draped over the body, stained red at the edges. Detectives listened to the shaky voice of a man whose eyes were glassy and hands were still trembling. A news reporter spoke in a detached tone into the camera.

            Ross had seen it coming. He’s _always_ seen it coming. Today he’d woken up from a dream that he’d been stabbed by a shadowy figure in an alleyway and bled out before help could arrive. He’d been drenched in cold sweat when he opened his eyes, the name of his now dead friend bouncing around in his head, clear as day, his breathing labored and a tight feeling in his chest. Ross had known what it meant. Today was the day that his friend was going to die.

            It’s always been a—not a gift, _definitely_ not a gift—an ability, a _curse_ that Ross has had to endure, seeing the deaths of the people he cares most about on the day they occur. Most people would give anything to see the future, no matter what it was, but he just wanted to be normal. He’s always dreaded going to sleep. The first time it had happened, he’d been five years old. He’d woken up crying after having a dream about his cat being hit by a car. His parents had assured him it was only a dream, but they found Ross’ cat in the road later that day. Coincidence, his parents insisted. But after the second time, he knew it was no such thing. He tried to change it. Ross would beg people to stay at home, tell them he had a bad feeling, but they wouldn’t listen. They never listened.

            He knew that getting attached to people only made it worse. The more people that were close to him, the more scared he became. He knew it was only human, but Ross still wished he could go through life without caring about anyone. A few lonely, empty years of trying that had taught him that that lifestyle would never work out. So he cared too much and hid his fears beneath the surface, trying to live a life as normal as possible. Nightmares often plagued him, but they were never as vivid as the horrible truths.

            The moment Ross met Barry, he knew his life was going to change. For better or for worse, he couldn’t tell. Barry didn’t make his fears disappear by any means—if anything, he made them stronger. Ross was more scared to lose Barry than he’d been in a long, _long_ time. At the same time, however, Barry made it easier. All of his friends did. They helped him remember to live in the moment and focus on the present rather than worrying about the future. For the first time that he could remember, Ross was thinking about _his_ future. Over the years he’d known Barry, feelings that were something other than friendship had emerged. Ross did his best to keep them hidden, not having a clue what to do about them. He was just grateful to have all of his friends in his life, and for a few years, everything was fine.

            Ross sat straight up in bed, a scream of anguish tearing from his throat. His breathing was heavy, his heart pounded painfully hard against his ribs, and cold sweat dripped down his spine. He buried his fingers in his hair and dug his fingertips into his scalp as the dream replayed in his head. Tires screeching, a pair of headlights, unbearable pain, and then blackness. _Barry, Barry, Barry, Barry,_ his mind chanted. Tremors wracked his body.

            “No, please, _no_ ,” Ross groaned as he brought his knees up to his chest. “Not Barry, _please,_ not Barry!” He sobbed and pulled his hair with how tightly he was holding his scalp, but he hardly felt it.

            Why? _Why?_ Why did he have to be born this way? Why did _so many_ of his friends seem to meet horrible fates? Why was he burdened with the knowledge of when they were going to die? Why could he never prevent it? Ross cursed under his breath and took huge, gulping breaths to try and stop the tears. He was still shaking, and his eyes stung. His stomach was a lead weight, his throat was sore, and his heart felt like it was being torn in two. Barry was going to die today, and there was nothing he could—no. _No,_ this couldn’t go on any longer. He couldn’t bear to lose his best friend.

            The clock on the phone read 3:25 AM, much too early for anyone to be awake. Ross didn’t care. His dream had taken place when the sun was out. There was still time. He could fix this. He unlocked his phone and called Barry, waiting impatiently. There was no way he’d sound like himself right now, but he didn’t care. He had to warn Barry. He had to save him.

            Barry picked up after four rings. His voice was scratchy with sleep. “Ross, what the hell do you want?”

            “Barry! Thank God,” Ross breathed.

            “Is everything okay?” Barry asked. He sounded concerned. Ross could practically see his brow furrowing. He heard bedsheets rustle as Barry sat up.

            “Yeah, I’m—I’m fine,” Ross said. His voice was still trembling. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself.

            “Then why did you call me?” Barry asked.

            “I need you to promise me something,” Ross said, eyes still closed. “Don’t go into work today. Don’t leave your apartment no matter what. Just stay home.”

            “What? I can’t do that. We have to record for Steam Train and I have a lot of editing to do, not to mention that we’re filming a shirt commercial today. Besides, you wouldn’t have a way to get there otherwise.”

            “Barry, please—”

            “I _can’t,_ ” Barry said, exasperation in his voice. “Unless you have a really fucking good reason for me not to, I’m going to work.”

            “You’d never believe me.” Ross’ voice is thick with unshed tears. He swallowed thickly, blinking hard to keep them at bay. “Just—trust me. Please.” His voice broke on the last word and he silently cursed himself.

            “Are you crying?”

            Ross wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “No.”

            “Shit, Ross.” A sigh. “Tell me what’s going on. Please. Then I’ll think about it, okay?”

            Ross let out a shaky breath and steeled himself. What could he say? Barry would never believe him if he told the truth. Then again, he wouldn’t be able to come up with a lie that would be good enough to keep Barry at home when his day was genuinely packed. Everyone knew that the editor was nothing short of a workaholic.

            “I just have a really bad feeling,” Ross said, going to his usual excuse.

            “A bad feeling about what?” Barry asked.

            “That if you leave your apartment, something bad will happen to you,” Ross said. He spoke quietly, almost too quietly to be heard over the phone. “Please, Bear, I can’t…I can’t lose you.” The line went silent.

            “That’s what you’re worried about?” Ross’ heart just about broke from the amount of gentleness in Barry’s tone.

            “Yeah,” he said, his voice breaking again. A single tear rolled down his face and he wiped it away furiously, letting out a loud sniff. “You mean so much to me Barry. I don’t know what I’d do if you were gone.”

            “I’m not going anywhere,” Barry soothed. “I can promise you that.” Ross’ heart sank. He could tell Barry was slipping away from him, just out of his reach, dismissing his warning as blind fear. What had he expected?

            “Promise?” Ross said.

            “Yeah,” Barry confirmed. “Don’t worry, okay? And get some sleep. We have a lot to do today.”

            “Yeah,” Ross said. He was shaking again. “Sorry for waking you up.”

            “It’s okay,” Barry yawned. “Night Ross. I’ll see you in the morning.”

            “Night B,” Ross said. He closed his eyes tightly. Barry hung up. Ross stared at the phone for a few seconds before letting it slip out of his hands. It clattered to the floor as he wrapped his arms around his knees and sobbed.

* * *

 

            Ross didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. He’d stared at the ceiling, worrying, wondering when it was going to happen. He tried to think of something he could do to prevent the inevitable, but nothing came to mind. Barry hadn’t listened. Ross thought and calculated and worried and hoped until the sun had risen and there were dark circles under his eyes. He sighed and trudged to the shower, trying to ignore the churning in his stomach and the tight feeling in his chest. He had to pretend like nothing was wrong today. Like he didn’t know this was the last day he’d ever hear Barry laugh, see him smile, talk to him, ride with him to work, or even _see_ him somewhere that wasn’t a casket—

            Ross pushed that thought away into the darkest, most remote parts of his mind. He couldn’t have those thoughts around Barry or during his time at the office today. He would have time to mourn later. That night, judging by the dream he’d had. Ross sighed got ready for the day. He showered. He choked down a bowl of cereal despite his nausea and lack of an appetite. The dark circles refused to go away, and his eyes were puffy, but nothing could be done about that. All that was left to do now was wait.

            The ride to the office was the same as always. Ross chatted with Barry, they listened to the radio, Ross got annoyed with other drivers while Barry laughed. Neither of them said anything about Ross’ call from earlier. Ross didn’t mind. He was hanging on to every single second he spent with Barry; he didn’t know which one was going to be the last. If Barry noticed that Ross was looking at him a little more than usual, he didn’t say anything. He parked in his usual spot, and Ross’ heartbeat began to quicken.

            This is it. This is the spot where his dream took place. He wanted to reach out and grab Barry’s wrist to prevent him from getting out of the car, but he stopped himself. The only other cars on the street were parked. Ross swallowed thickly and got out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than necessary. Barry looked at him, one eyebrow quirked slightly, but his expression changed when he saw Ross’ face, his eyebrows shooting up. Ross caught a glance of himself in the side mirror and saw he was as white as a sheet.

            “Are you okay?” Barry asked, his brow furrowing as he walked around the front of the car. He lightly rested one of his warm hands on Ross’ arm.

            “Yeah,” Ross said, looking down at Barry’s hand. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just, uh, not looking forward to all the shit we have to do today.” He could feel Barry continue looking at him even though he didn’t move his gaze from the other man’s hand. Barry gave his arm a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand and heading to the office, and it made Ross want to curl into a ball and cry.

            The work day went by quickly—too quickly for Ross’ liking. He and Barry recorded a ton of new episodes for Steam Train, Barry got caught up on his editing, the filming for the shirt commercial got done, and Ross even managed to animate a little. He managed to act like his usual self, not the scared, sad man he felt like that day. Just as seven o’clock rolled around, Barry finished the last touches on the last episode he had to do that day. Ross was sitting at his desk, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter on his phone. He briefly wondered how many tweets he would see offering condolences and support to the Grumps in a few days. He swallowed thickly and shook his head slightly, blinking back tears.

            “Ready to head out?” Barry asked him. Ross looked up. “Sorry I kept us so late.”

            “It’s fine, it’s fine,” Ross said. He stood up and stretched. It was still daylight. He pocketed his phone and smiled at Barry. “Let’s go.”

            They shut down their computers, Barry grabbed his keys, and they both shouted goodbyes to Kevin, who was currently editing the episodes they’d recorded that day. Ross’ stomach was a ball of ice. Barry was looking up at the sky that was just barely starting to turn into the colors of a sunset, a smile on his face. He was walking on the side of the sidewalk nearest to the road, which was busier than it had been that morning. Ross swallowed. He could practically feel it coming. Every step they took was a step closer to the end.

            Then he saw it. The car that drove too fast, its headlights too bright. Other cars honked at it angrily, and it almost crashed directly into another driver. Ross looked at Barry, so blissfully unaware, and he made a decision. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch this happen.

            Everything seemed to move in slow motion. A van pulled out into the intersection the car was approaching, and it swerved out of the way, directly towards Barry and Ross, its tires squealing. Ross grabbed Barry by his shirt sleeved and _shoved,_ sending him flying forward. Barry let out a cry of indignation as he hit the cement of the sidewalk, and the wind was knocked out of Ross as the out-of-control vehicle hit him in the side. Several of his ribs snapped from the impact, and a searing pain shot through his chest. It got hard to breathe. Ross was sent flying. He landed several feet away, smacking his head on the ground with a sickening crack. His vision went fuzzy, and warm liquid dripped from a wound in his head. Everything hurt. His ears rung. He could barely register Barry’s voice, ragged and anguished. Tires squealed again.

            “Ross!” Barry was by Ross’ side. Ross could only see the pavement underneath him. He tried to turn over, but his entire body screamed in protest.

            “You okay?” Ross slurred. His mouth tasted like blood. Was his lung punctured? Is that what that pain in his chest was?

            “Am I—?! What the _fuck,_ man!” Barry shouted. “Oh Jesus—shit, _fuck,_ I need to call an ambulance. Stay with me, Ross, okay?”

            Ross didn’t respond. He was focused on the fact that he’d done it. He’d saved Barry. Sure, he’d be dead, but that didn’t matter so much to him. He could hear Barry frantically talking to someone on the phone, shouting about a “hit and run” and that his friend was dying, but the editor’s voice was barely audible over the one echoing in Ross’ head, the same emotionless, monotone one that chanted the name of the person whose death he had seen.

_Ross. Ross. Ross. Ross._

            “Ross! _Ross!_ ”

            The voice in Ross’ head faded. He turned his head and saw Barry kneeling over him. Barry’s face was red and blotchy, tears were dripping down his nose and onto the ground, and his eyes were wide with fear and desperation. Ross hadn’t meant to hurt him. He’d just done the only thing he thought he could, and it had cost him.

            “Sorry,” Ross croaked. “I had to save you.”

            “Stop talking like you’re going to die,” Barry snapped. His voice was shaking, threatening to crack. “God damn it Ross, you’re going to be okay!” He grabbed one of Ross’ hands and held on so tightly that it cracked the animator’s knuckles.

            “Barry, I love you,” Ross said. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m an asshole.” Blood was dribbling down his chin. More pooled on the ground as he coughed. Ross made a surprised noise in the back of his throat when Barry smashed their lips together.

            “I love you too,” he said. “And when you get out of the hospital, I want to take you on a date. I-I don’t care if we stay at your place and eat pizza in our pajamas, I—” Barry’s voice broke. He gripped Ross’ hand even tighter and pressed it to his forehead, sobs wracking his body. Ross’ vision was fading. He could feel his lungs filling with blood and his heart slowing. That wasn’t good.

            “Don’t do this to me Ross. Don’t leave me,” Barry begged. Sirens blared in the distance.

            Ross never answered.


End file.
